


there's nothing stopping you

by epoenine



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Casual Sex, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epoenine/pseuds/epoenine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s quick to unlock the door, letting Mercutio step inside with a wince. Benvolio looks him over, grimacing until he sees Mercutio’s smirk, which makes a smile tug at his lips as he says, “Let me guess, I should see the other guy?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's nothing stopping you

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for talk of sexual harassment, violence, bruises, blood, explicit content  
> thanks for reading!

The knock at the door startles Benvolio.

It’s a Friday, well past midnight, and Benvolio has been working his way through _The Iliad_ for for quite some time now. He gets to his feet, wishing there were more lights turned on instead of just the table lamp.

Benvolio opens the door, looking through the small crack that the chain allows, and breathes out, softly, “Oh.”

“Hello to you, too,” says Mercutio, wearing a smirk, though the humor is gone and his voice is thick, like his nose is plugged. Which it is, Benvolio supposes, judging by the amount of blood on Mercutio’s face.

He’s quick to unlock the door, letting Mercutio step inside with a wince. Benvolio looks him over, grimacing until he sees Mercutio’s smirk, which makes a smile tug at his lips as he says, “Let me guess, I should see the other guy?”

Mercutio shakes his head, which brings on another wince, and he answers, “Nope.” He pauses, grinning. “The other guy beat the shit out of me.”

“I can see that,” Benvolio replies, turning around to grab the first aid kit from the small, cramped bathroom. He’s out within seconds, gently pushing Mercutio down onto the couch. “What happened this time?” He turns on more lights, making Mercutio’s wounds much easier to see.

“Some guy was hitting on a girl _and_ her girlfriend who clearly did not want to be hit on,” Mercutio states.

“You didn’t think they could handle it themselves?” Benvolio sighs, exhausted. It’s not that he’s tired of dealing with Mercutio post-bar fight, but it’s Mercutio, and he’s sitting here, blood on his shirt and in his teeth as he grins that grin. That’s what’s tiring.

“Then his buddies joined him,” Mercutio tells Benvolio.

“How many?” prompts Benvolio, trying not to let it get to him.

“Four, if we’re including the first guy,” Mercutio says. “They were outnumbered and sitting there and just _taking_ it, just taking his catcalls and his disgusting way of flirting and I had to do something about it, I couldn’t let it go on.”

Benvolio huffs, “You couldn’t have just--I don’t know, suggested that the girls leave instead of provoking four men?”

“Says the epitome of aggressiveness,” Mercutio says, almost joking but not quite. “How you’ve managed to not get into one bar fight since the start of this term amazes me.”

“Mercutio,” Benvolio starts, but he breaks off, voice growing quieter. He brings his hand up to Mercutio’s face, only to have Mercutio flinch back. “Let me,” he whispers, fingers shaking as he starts to clean up Mercutio’s face. Once the blood is gone, he can see the bruises starting to form, blue and green and purple all over. “Take your shirt off,” he says, turning back to the kit to reach for more antibacterial wipes.

“Where did the romance go,” drawls Mercutio, lifting his shirt over his head with a groan of pain. Benvolio helps him halfway.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” Benvolio asks, running his hands along Mercutio’s chest as he presses down gently, checking for any signs of more bruising. Mercutio’s ribs look like they’ve seen the worst of it.

“Broken?” Mercutio questions, almost dreading the answer.

“No, just bruised,” Benvolio answers, wiping off the blood that dripped from his nose down to his chest. In silence, he goes back to dabbing at the scrape just above Mercutio’s eyebrow, not meeting Mercutio’s eyes.

Benvolio straddles Mercutio, fingers touching his temples. His hand drops, thumb brushing over the part of Mercutio’s lip that isn’t split. Mercutio’s breaths are shaky, and this time their eyes do catch. It’s still quiet, save for their breathing and the ticking of the clock.

Mercutio leans forward, only enough for his breath to ghost over Benvolio’s lips, a silent request. Their noses brush together, almost with uncertainty, until Mercutio presses their lips together, shifting when Benvolio sighs through the kiss.

Benvolio nips at Mercutio’s bottom lip, feeling his erection as he grins down.

There’s a moan, though it isn’t possible to tell who it came from, and Mercutio brings his fingers to Benvolio’s pants, tugging them and his boxers down with a sort of smooth grace. His hand closes around Benvolio’s cock, and though the friction might be a little uncomfortable, Benvolio isn’t complaining, especially not when he lets out a groan and Mercutio strokes him faster.

Hands still shaking, Benvolio’s fingers are at Mercutio’s jeans, undoing the button and getting his cock out, taking it in hand. With every upward stroke Benvolio moans in Mercutio’s mouth, desperate and needy.

Benvolio’s lips latch onto Mercutio’s neck, biting and sucking, leaving an angry red mark. Mercutio doesn’t think about it, how it means nothing. Instead he focuses on the sensation of teeth scraping over sensitive skin.

With a groan, Mercutio spills over Benvolio’s hand, though his own doesn’t stop stroking Benvolio. Soon enough, Benvolio comes, murmuring, “Mercutio, _Mercutio_.”

Benvolio stays on top of him, breathing heavily while he recovers. With another slow, lazy kiss, he gets off, pulling his pants back up and grabbing a towel from a nearby table. After wiping himself down, he tosses it to Mercutio.

He sits down next to Mercutio, movements still shaky.

They do this, sometimes. Mercutio will show up on Benvolio’s doorstep, on his way to being drunk or bruised and bloody. Benvolio will fix him up they’ll indulge, fucking each other into the mattress or against a wall, however the night plays out.

They’re quiet for a while, just sitting on Benvolio’s couch and regaining their breaths. Mercutio feels his heart skip a beat, watching Benvolio’s chest stutter along with his breaths as he catches Mercutio’s gaze.

Minutes pass by, and Mercutio says, “So.”

“Are you staying the night?” asks Benvolio, turning to look away. He runs his hand through his hair, already knowing the answer.

“No, I’ve got shit to do,” he responds. He moves to stand, making his way towards the door. Mercutio stands in the doorway while Benvolio joins him.

Softly, Benvolio says, “You’ve got to stop getting into fights.”

“Then what excuse would I have to see you?” Mercutio returns, a sardonic smile flitting across his face. They stand in silence for a moment, before Mercutio says, “I’ve gotta--”

“You could just ask,” Benvolio says, fingers fumbling at the hem of his shirt. “To see me, I mean,” he clarifies. “There’s nothing stopping you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mercutio replies, quietly, before stepping backwards, out into the hallway. He turns, walking away without looking back.

Benvolio shuts the door, a small smile making its way across his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> whoops


End file.
